


you can sharpen your knife

by limerental



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bloodplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Competent Jaskier, F/M, Mind Reading, Oral Sex, Sort Of, Unsanitary, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23898661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limerental/pseuds/limerental
Summary: After an ambush reveals that Jaskier is plenty handy with his little dagger, Yennefer finds herself hot and bothered.“You’re covered in blood,” says Yennefer.“Yeah, that’s what tends to happen when you kill a man.”“Not as such.” She gestures at her own pristine travel clothes, not a lick of spilled blood on them.“I’m a little bit messier than you, Yennefer. We already know this.”His bloodied grin sends a fresh surge of inexplicable heat through her body, and she’s dropping her sword to the dirt and stumbling towards him. The adrenaline from the fight is still high, her heart rate racing, and before she can second guess herself, she fists the front of his stained doublet to push him flat on his back and straddles his hips.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 20
Kudos: 267
Collections: Smut, Witcher





	you can sharpen your knife

**Author's Note:**

> yennefer & jaskier are feralbitch4feralbitch and them's facts
> 
> title is a take me to church lyric but clarification that there is no sexy knifeplay in this one

The ambush and what follows happens in a blur.

The three of them are navigating by foot along a narrow trail that skirts the edge of a crevasse when the mountain above rumbles with a threatening roar and a landslide of loose scree charges down the steep slope and across the trail.

Yennefer dives back, dragging Jaskier by the collar out of the way of the falling mess of stone and silt, and Geralt leaps back in the other direction, soon disappearing in a cloud of dust, obscured by the landslide.

“Yennefer!” Geralt’s voice shouts from the other side of the tumble of boulders as the rumbling finally settles. Cracks fissure out along the cliff’s edge, threatening to bring a good portion of the shelf of rock to the valley floor, and Jaskier scrabbles to put more distance between himself and the mound of stones.

“Geralt!” Yennefer yells back, still holding Jaskier by the back of his doublet, and he wants to tell her she’s hopelessly stretching out the fabric but decides that is probably not the highest priority at this very moment. “Don’t try to come to us. The shelf looks about to give way.”

“I’ll find a way up and around,” he says. “Stay put. Might take a while”

There’s the sound of him retreating, fading into the whistle of the wind along the mountainside.

“Right,” says Jaskier, sweeping the dust off his knees as he stands beside Yennefer. “Now, how about we--”

And that’s when they are set upon by a flurry of armed men.

The sorceress is quick to draw her sword as Jaskier fumbles with the ornate dagger tucked into his boot.

Yennefer curses under her breath.

She’d wondered if there was something suspect about the seedy merchant who had directed them up into the hills after supposedly stolen goods, and here was the confirmation.

Thing is, she hadn’t intended to travel with Geralt, and especially not with Geralt and his useless bard.

She had been avoiding him even, but the universe seemed not to want to allow said avoidance. It seemed a strange coincidence that she would run into them in the local tavern while speaking to the merchant and then again on the road heading up into the mountains, but that's certainly what happened.

And now, of course, she is stuck protecting said useless bard.

“Stay behind me,” shouts Yennefer, parrying the blows of two assailants at once. There are three men altogether, masked and lightly-armored, and she should be able to handle them all if only the little idiot stays out of the way.

Jaskier doesn’t stay out of the way.

“Don’t worry!” he yells, and before she can intervene, he leaps, dagger catching a glint of sunlight, directly into the oncoming path of the third man.

“Idiot!”

She loses sight of him in a rush of blows delivered by her pair of attackers.

_Fuck_. Geralt will never forgive her if she lets his bard die.

Yennefer swears and spins to strike her sword up under the jaw of one assailant and drive a knee into the other’s crotch in one smooth motion. Both of them topple backwards into the abyss below and out of sight, and Yennefer immediately swivels back to the bard, praying she won’t find a bloodied mess and sees--

A bloodied mess.

The armed man sprawls in the dust on the narrow ledge, dead. Jaskier straddles his legs, breathing hard, drenched from head to thigh in gore. The dead man has been brutally flayed open from belly to throat.

Blood drips off the edge of the fancy, little dagger gripped tight in Jaskier’s lowered hand.

Their eyes meet, the blue a strange and alluring contrast against all that red, and Yen’s stomach does an odd flutter.

That’s. More appealing than it likely should be.

Made worse by the thrum of equal arousal her magic can read coming from the bard.

_Elation. Excitement. Heat._

Jaskier wrinkles his nose and plucks at the front of his ruined doublet.

“That’s a stain that is never going to come out,” he whines.

“You--” Yennefer is having some trouble processing what she’s seeing. To say nothing of the swell of inappropriate interest suddenly rolling through her. “You killed him?”

“I’m not entirely incompetent,” says Jaskier with a shrug. He shuffles off of the body and falls back on his ass to the ground.

“You _gutted_ him,” she says.

Jaskier looks down at the man again and grimaces.

“I do know how to use this,” he says, waggling the little dagger. “You don’t have to look so shocked.”

Yennefer blinks at him.

“I don’t look shocked.”

She finds herself distracted by the amount of blood on his face. Does he realize he has so much blood on his face?

“Ok, ok, it’s time to stop staring at me now, or I’m going to start assuming some untoward and indelicate things,” says Jaskier, his hands dangling between his bent knees. He still sounds out of breath. “Usually when a woman stares at me like that it’s for reasons other than the fact that I’ve just killed a man.”

“I’m not staring at you like anything.”

“You are. It’s very intense. A smoldering gaze.”

“There’s no smoldering.”

“Sure, sure,” he breathes.

“You’re covered in blood,” says Yennefer, because someone ought to tell him. Maybe he doesn't know.

“Yeah, I'm very aware." He snorts. "That’s what tends to happen when you kill a man.”

“Not as such.” She gestures at her own pristine travel clothes, not a lick of spilled blood on them.

“I’m a little bit messier than you, Yennefer. We already know this.”

His bloodied grin sends a fresh surge of inexplicable heat through her body, and in a split second decision, she’s dropping her sword to the dirt and stumbling towards him. The adrenaline from the fight is still high, her heart rate racing, and before she can second guess herself, she fists the front of his stained doublet to push him flat on his back and straddles his hips.

“Oh!” says Jaskier, the wind knocked out of him. “Oh, you really were staring at me like that. Huh. I’m-- mmph.”

She cuts him off with a demanding kiss, his head thumping back against the ground. There is the metallic tang of blood on his lips.

And that undercurrent of the bard’s own arousal that rises sharply to meet hers.

“You like this,” she says against his mouth.

“This? Oh yes, very much.”

“ _No._ The other thing.”

“The murder thing?”

“It was self-defense,” she says with a roll of her hips in his lap, and the bard groans.

“You like that I like it,” gasps Jaskier, his fingers tightening on her waist. “Isn’t that a little messed up?”

“Shut up, and get your cock out,” says Yennefer, and Jaskier fumbles to obey, tugging at the ties of his breeches.

Yennefer is glad to have worn a woolen skirt rather than her usual traveling trousers for the simple fact that she does not have to waste more time than necessary in getting the bard where she wants him. She hitches up the fabric of her skirts, grips his surprisingly sizable cock in one slender hand, and shifts to press down onto him.

“Shit,” groans Jaskier, staring up at her with a dazed tilt of his head. “Shit, that is very nice. I should murder people more often.”

“You should be quiet and fuck me,” says Yennefer, and he does, clenching his thighs to thrust up to meet her as wildly as she falls against him. He grips her elbows for leverage, smearing the dead man’s blood along her arms as he does so, and that shouldn’t be as thrilling as it is, that shouldn’t be _any_ sort of thrilling. But.

She kisses him again and allows him to roll them away from the cliff’s edge, her thighs hitched in his hands as he speeds his rhythm. There will be blood smeared there as well now, she knows, the backs of her knees and the soft skin of her inner thighs.

She knows by the way he presses his chest against hers, smooths his hands down her bare skin, that he is thinking the very same thing.

And by the whisper of his thoughts, she knows that he thrills in it.

_To leave a stain on her, to ruffle her, to leave a mark_ , he is thinking, an incoherent rush. He shifts one of her legs over his shoulder to thrust against her at a new angle, and she arches her back and pants under him, allowing his thoughts to rush over her.

She does not often breach anyone’s mind without good reason, if only because doing so is usually a waste of precious energy, but the bard is woefully unguarded in this moment. She dips in and out of his thoughts almost without effort.

_The blood, the hunger, to leave a mark,_ he is thinking. _Always been out of reach, always been cold to me, always unafraid, always put together, but now--_

_Ha!_ she thinks, finding it almost funny. If only he knew of her history, how bloodied and crooked and scarred and afraid she once was, perhaps still was underneath it all.

_Beautiful, she’s beautiful,_ he is thinking suddenly. _I am very lucky. Geralt is very lucky. I am going to miss this when it is over. Best make it good then._

“Stop thinking so loudly,” she says and shifts to roll them again, knocking him to his back and pressing both palms flat against his chest to rock down against him.

“Oh, that’s very good, that’s wonderful,” he is saying, voicing his babble of thoughts out loud now. Because of course his brain to mouth filter fades to nothing the closer he gets to orgasm. “I’m not going to last, but _oh_ , you’re very good at kissing. And you’re beautiful. And you’re very good at most things really and--”

“Hush, bard,” she says, and he doesn’t. But it’s not long before his thighs tense, and he gasps as his orgasm steals through him. Before the last shudder has faded, he is slipping from her to push her back and shuffle between her legs, putting that mouth to much better use.

She groans, back arching from the ground, and he brings her to trembling completion twice there on the edge of the cliff in the dust beside the dead man.

She is working up to a third when Geralt appears, scrambling down the cliffside from above in a spray of loose grit.

“Ah!” says Jaskier breathlessly, rising from between Yennefer’s legs. “Geralt, hi, hello. We were just-- um.”

“Fucking,” says Yennefer, pushing herself up on her elbows but not moving to cover herself.

“Right, yeah, it was her idea.”

“He killed a man.” Yen shrugs.

“I killed a man, yes,” says Jaskier. “She’s into that?”

“Yeah,” says Geralt.

“So that’s what happened,” he says.

“No one’s hurt?” Geralt peers down at the dead man and at their discarded bloodied weapons.

“Well,” says Jaskier, thinking. “I may never be the same again. But otherwise.”

“You uhh… you going to finish her off, then?” Geralt asks and settles to sit on a nearby boulder. Yennefer gestures pointedly between her legs.

“Oh,” says Jaskier and adjusts his grip on the blood-smeared back of Yennefer’s raised knee. “I sure am.”

And he does.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr [@limerental](http://limerental.tumblr.com)


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